


Bitter Duty

by Triskaideka



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, One-Shot, depressing headcanon, trope: massively altered timeline, trope: unable to escape fate, turned into very short story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:18:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2318837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triskaideka/pseuds/Triskaideka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Arthas had listened to the seemingly mad prophet Medivh, he could have avoided a terrible future of bloodshed and terror...but at what cost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter Duty

**Author's Note:**

> For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.
> 
> —Luke 12:48 (KJV)

The plan had come together brilliantly, each lieutenant of the Burning Legion falling to their prowess: Archimonde, Illidan, and now Ner'zhul's death would complete the campaign. He knew his destiny, knew what sacrifice the Prophet had demanded to save his people. And perhaps the world.

Light's Vengeance swung down in an arc enhanced with the Holy Light's own majesty, shattering the Frozen Throne. There had been a sentient being inside that rimed armor once, but now every shred of good had been sucked out as quickly as the life of its owner. The Helm hid the owner's face from him.

He studied it as he approached. Of course the Prophet had described it in great detail as part of their desperate plans to redeem their world. Still, the facets of the blue gem above the eyeslits stole his attention with their dancing. Hypnotized, he slowed to a shuffle until the stale air of the icy coffin set him coughing. What an ugly thing to be trapped in; he pitied Ner'zhul his prison.

Yet he would be required to sacrifice as much. With one final prayer to the Light that his wife was safely ensconced with the remnants of humanity in Kalimdor, he reached to pull the Helm off its luckless bearer.

Orcs were never that slim.

Human females often were, though....

It was too late either way. So much depended on his carrying out the plan through its endgame. Trying not to look at the pitiful corpse splayed before the throne, refusing to identify it, he pulled the Helm of Domination over his head. As the power contained in the eldritch armor rushed through him with a frozen roar, he wept.

He wept for his dead wife.

He wept for himself, damned alive.

His new powers sang to him, seductive. He could bring back his wife, chain her here in misery with him. He could use the ready army of forever loyal undead to revenge her death and annihilate the Legion.

He would not.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, worse than giving up his plans of vengeance upon Kel'Thuzad and Mal'Ganis while trusting an apparent madman. Worse, the Helm took away the privacy of his mind.

The alien voice in his head reverberated and echoed as if his mind were an empty cavern. "Insignificant gnat! You may have stolen the petty powers I granted the warlock, but they cannot save you from the Burning Legion's fury!"

Had Sargeras tried to reason with him, the outcome could have been vastly different. Arthas put forth the stubborn aspects of himself in his mental battlefield: the righteous crusader, a hero who would die unsullied.

The presence of the fallen Titan was less than amused at his display. "She suffocated while my obedient slave fought her, mind to mind. She wondered why you abandoned her to die here, alone."

He let the Helm feed his grief, his anger and powerlessness to his enemy.

"You have the power to bring her back. To reign over the world in peace," said the voice in his head. All the spells he could use--he wanted to--but he knew his duty. Uther would be proud of his resolve. There was only one ending for this story.

He summoned the awesome powers of the Lich King and released all of the Scourge from their undeath. The Frozen Throne claimed its king, sealing him away from the world to ruminate forever on his fate.

**Author's Note:**

> This sat on my hard drive for six months. I had two people not in the fandom read it...and they didn't get it. It's a pretty good example of how my headcanons go (oh, look, evil wins in this way this time--and I don't even read Stephen King). And it definitely touches on my personal tropes that'll probably show up in the longer fics I have going in side universes too. So, uh, I apologize?
> 
> As usual, my thanks to Ace for trying to convince me that my writing might be worth reading to someone out there, even if she hasn't read this and would probably be person #3 to have no idea what's going on. ...I promise I'm gonna click that "Submit" button really soon, dude.
> 
> (Now if someone wants to write the prior scenes and tell me how the hell all of this happened, I wouldn't object.)


End file.
